


Well, Fuck Me!

by countingcr0ws



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 2013 Harry and Louis bc the age fits, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - College/University, Baker!Harry, Domestic Harry, Everyone is a cinnamon roll, Fluff, Help, Law Student!Harry, Louis is a great person to sit and admire what he's like, M/M, Romance, Side Ziam bc Ziam is true, Valentine's Day, drama student!Louis, for visualizing purposes, i guess, sort of, though not explicitly mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 23:34:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5984806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countingcr0ws/pseuds/countingcr0ws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles meets <i>The</i> Louis Tomlinson seven years later in London, and his poor, domesticity craving, baby heart can't take the perfection that is quiffed Louis- crazy quiffed Louis that also wants tall, curly, very kind Harry but the poor boy can't speak nicely without yelling, because feelings, oh my god.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well, Fuck Me!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sky_reid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_reid/gifts).



> Prompt: harry and louis are both single on valentine's day. they're old friends who haven't spoken in years (since they were in their early teens), but they recognise each other and start talking and somehow end up on a date.

Watching Liam check his phone for the hundredth time in the night, Harry sighed as he set the rag in his hand down. "Just go," he begged, the other's head whipping up at him, startled. 

"No, I was just checking, you know," Liam stowed his phone away. Steadfastly refusing to look up, the boy worried at his bottom lip as he straightened the pastry boxes. 

"Go get changed for your dinner. Zayn would be disappointed if you turned up like this," he continued, pleased when his fib hit home as Liam flinched, inspecting his button down. "It's the smell of the bakery," the boy explained, leaning in unceremoniously to nose at the crook of the boy's neck, laughing when he was pushed away roughly. "It’ll be like fucking a cinnamon roll." 

"No way," Liam protested as he sniffed the collar of his shirt. "It’s not that bad!" 

Harry made a huge show of shrugging before sliding back to the cashier at the tinkle of the shop bell. Sending the frazzled boy away with a box of red velvet cupcakes he had iced himself in the afternoon, Harry returned to the matter at hand. "Just go, Liam. I can handle the shop without you," he urged, practically begging now. 

The bakery was near the campus, and its slightly up-market branding was good for gifts and maybe deserts post-date, but it was presently close to eight and devoid of any customers. They had but a little more than two hours until closing.

Harry grinned when he noticed the first hint of hesitation on his friend’s expression. "Get lost," he complained as he tugged at the strings of the other boy's apron. "Okay, okay!" Liam protested as he swatted the pesky hands away. "I'm going back to wash up quickly. Call me if the post-dinner crowd gets too much, okay? I don't want to leave you here alone," he insisted as he swapped his apron for his coat at the hook. 

Harry nodded along even though it was clear that he wouldn't be calling Liam at all. The other boy was supposed to knock off at half past eight for his date anyway. 

"Just fuck off, Liam," he replied with a leer, cackling when the muscular boy flipped him off before pulling the shop door open. "Call me if you need me," Liam insisted before disappearing with a jaunty wave. 

Alone now, Harry huffed quietly to himself as he craned his neck to inspect the shop. It was rarely this empty unless it was closing time, and the discordance of it all made him strangely jittery. Pulling his phone out of the front pocket of his apron, he began to scroll through his Instagram feed. Idly liking the posts with a small smile on his lips, he couldn't help but notice the common theme of it all. 

Stowing his phone away, he refused to wish for a boyfriend. He had split with Nick amicably a week into the new year, and he had realised after that going through three boyfriends in four months probably wasn't the right way to find _the_ right one. It didn't really matter if he was single or otherwise today, he coached himself mentally. He was taking this whole boyfriend thing slow. 

Pulling out his notes for his contract law class, Harry settled in for the night ahead of him. 

-

Harry set his pen down sharply as he sprung out of his seat immediately at the tinkle of the shop bell. "Hello, welcome to-" he broke off as he squinted at the newcomer. "Louis?" He called out disbelievingly. The stranger's purposeful gait was oddly familiar, and paired with the curved brows and the thin but shapely lips that he had spent his adolescence fantasizing about, he was sure that it was _The_ Louis Tomlinson despite the years in between. 

"Do I know you?" _Surely Louis_ asked, his eyes hard as he swept over him quickly, a careful distance away from the counter. Harry felt his cheeks heat up at the heady combination of Louis' thick Yorkshire accent and blue expressive eyes, undeterred by the other's failure to recognize him. He had been Gemma's annoyingly clingy baby brother after all. Harry chuckled as he leaned across the counter. "Yeah, erm, I'm Harry. Harry Styles, I mean. Gemma's brother." He introduced awkwardly, settling into a dimpled smile at the immediate connection. 

"Well, fuck me!" Louis exclaimed as he gaped exaggeratedly, his eyes moving quickly to take in the boy before him once more. Harry shrugged as he opened his arms with a careless smirk. "It’s Harold!" The boy exclaimed as he bounded forward, wrapping his arms around the taller boy's neck in the most awkward hug ever over the counter as the other squawked noisily, caught under the weight of the newcomer’s hands. 

"How's Gemma? Why are you so tall? What happened to your hair? What are you doing here? How long have you been in London?" Louis questioned rapidly as he stepped backwards without an apology, his eyes shining with excitement while Harry grinned at the bright energy of the other boy. Twelve year old Louis had buzzed with mischief and a potent charm that helped him to wheedle out of every sticky situation that he inevitably found himself in, and it was obvious that the years in between had only translated the impish streak into an effortless charisma that served to make nineteen year old Harry restless once more. 

"I've been in London since school started. I'm a first year," he beamed as he waved at his notes on the counter. "And Gemma's the same, insufferably overbearing even when I'm so far away." 

Louis nodded eagerly, seemingly appeased despite not getting answers to every single question. "So, are you working here?" 

Harry raised a brow questioningly as he pulled at his apron with an amused huff. Louis turned a faint pink, wetting his lips nervously as he appraised the boy once more. 

"Didn’t make much sense there, did I? The shock, Harold. You're so tall now-" "Not that difficult, Louis," Harry interrupted in jest, raising his arms in mock surrender at the sharp look of poison that he received. It was the truth anyway, Louis had been shorter than his sister when he used to come over, and while Harry had dismissed it as Gemma's puberty then, it had in reality, been Louis’ _small_ genes all along. But it suited the boy nonetheless, a ball of compact energy as he strode into unfamiliar places to bless them with the presence of his messy, artfully styled quiff that worked to further set his sharp cheekbones off. 

"As I was saying," Louis continued self-importantly with an air of mock annoyance that had the baker biting his upper lip in fond amusement. "Look at you now, all tall, mouthy, and positively rakish. How does Anne even let you off alone to London?" He tutted as a smile took over the younger boy's face. 

"Did you just say that I'm good looking?" Harry questioned as he fluttered his eyelashes in jest at the boy opposite him, desperately suffocating the excited squeal within him. 

"It's the curls," Louis defended, his knuckles bouncing against the counter as he surveyed the shop furtively. Harry willed himself not to blush at the non-denial from his ex-crush. He had gotten a new wardrobe since he began university, swapping his baggy bottoms for dark skinnies as he slicked his crown back in a quiff while waiting for this curls to grow out. And he knew that he looked good. His ex, Nick had a possessive streak a mile wide, and would often run catty commentaries under his breath about the people staring at his boyfriend. But to have someone, much less the boy that made him aware of his sexuality compliment him was another matter entirely. 

"It's not usually so empty, is it?" Louis commented non sequitur as Harry wrangled his thoughts under control. Louis was still capable of disarming him so casually, and he was surprised to find himself okay with feeling like he was ten years old all over again. "Because I've heard that the baked goods here were pretty good."

Harry reeled at the compliment. He was one of the two bakers at the shop. "Yeah, it’s definitely not," he replied as he stuck his head out to inspect the length of the shop entirely. There were but two couples looking moonily at each other over slices of cakes. "And I'm one of the bakers here," he added shyly, brows raising when Louis whipped his head back sharply. 

"Well fuck me, Harold," Louis exclaimed as he dropped his hand onto the counter in awe. Harry steadfastly refused to imagine Louis demanding him to insert another finger into him, because that would be objectification, and Harry was but a respectable boy. "I can't even make pancakes to save my life!" 

The younger boy was confused, but nonetheless amused by the specificity of the comment. "You’re exaggerating, Louis. But the shop’s definitely more popular usually. It was pretty crazy this afternoon too. People rushing to buy sweets for their dates," Harry explained, refusing to think about impressing Louis. The boy nodded pensively as he glanced at the Valentine's Day themed goods on display, uncharacteristically quiet.

"You've not been bullied to take the rubbish shift because no one would, have you?" Louis' voice soft and tainted with ire when he finally looked back up. Harry tried not to revel too much in the other’s protectiveness. 

"No, I'm single, so I offered to do it. It's an easy job today anyway," he waved at his notes in explanation, desperately shifting the conversation to safer grounds. It was seven years later, but Louis was still as unattainable as he was when Harry was ten, or even twelve. 

Louis nodded in understanding, momentarily appeased before his brows were rising once more. "No, wait. You can't be single, Harold. Have you looked into the mirror? Are those girls blind?" He demanded as Harry blinked at the forcefulness that immediately reminded him so much of his elder sister. No wonder they had gotten along like a house on fire. 

"I'm gay, so," he responded with a shrug, refusing to overthink the other’s comment. Louis was just the overbearing sibling fighting for his welfare, he coached himself mentally, strangely at ease with his prior admission. He never made it a habit to tell every person he came across about his bedroom preferences, but it felt strangely cathartic to share it with Louis, something almost akin to coming back into a full circle. He could probably die tonight with no regrets. He gave the boy opposite him a more confident smile. 

"And I'm looking for something long term, you know. Cooking, washing, and stuff," he tapered off lamely, biting his bottom lip in embarrassment at the admission. He felt ten again, his skin too itchy, too tight under the glance of his sister’s best friend, his mouth always too loose and the words out of his mouth completely mortifying. He just wanted to impress the other boy so much, and it translated to an unfortunate, compulsive need to explain every nonsensical detail in unsolicited rambling. 

"Well fuck me," Louis mumbled under his breath as he shifted his watch nervously, looking anywhere but at the boy before him as he continued to swear to himself. "You can't-" he began before trailing off with a sharp, annoyed shake of his head. Harry felt his face fall at the other’s expression, stung by the other's non-rejection. He couldn’t identify the source of his disappointment, whether from his permanently lingering affection for Louis, or the present fondness he nursed for Louis’ protectiveness and bright wit. How different were the two in fact, really? 

"I mean, Anne should seriously really lock you up, I swear. You can't be looking like that and saying such stuff to strangers!" Harry cleared his mind immediately to protest at the other’s self-categorization. Louis had moved away when his mother remarried again, but he had been family in the two years that Gemma and him were best friends. He was probably still family now. 

Louis cut him off with a sharp raise of his hand. "You make me want to jump your bones and ravish you, Harold! You're supposed to have self-preservation! You're alone in big bad London!" He all but yelled as he raked a hand through his perfect quiff, thoroughly exasperated while Harry looked on, choosing to focus on his endearment for the boy’s lack of concern for his hairstyle. His emotions were presently all over the place, and he didn’t want to understand what Louis meant by ravishing him. Louis was always so intense, and Harry had never been able to catch up with him. 

"'M not a child," the baker finally interjected unhelpfully, his voice uncharacteristically rough. Louis blinked at him heavily, his cheeked tinted in exertion, his pupils completely blown. 

"For fuck's sake, Harold! Anyone can see that!" The older boy gestured sharply, practically stabbing his arms in the general vicinity of the boy behind the counter. "I walk into the pricey bakery to stuff my face during Valentine's Day and there's this fit boy behind the counter and he knows me and he's Harold fucking Styles and he's tall, he's curly, he's funny, he cooks, he's fucking gay, and he wants to kill me!" Louis was yelling now, the sole couple left in the bakery turning around to look at them in annoyance. 

"That's still not my name though," Harry protested weakly, uncomfortable with the meaning of the other's accusations. It seemed that he was being blamed for existing, and that wasn't very polite, but Louis was always the most polite person ever, and he was so completely, utterly confused and incredibly lost. 

"Harold!" Louis cried as he smacked his forehead loudly in grief. "Harold, Harold, Harold!" Harry was sure that the boy had lost his mind now, nervously giving the couple a look of apology as they exited the bakery quietly. "I don't know what I've done wrong, Louis. I'm sorry." 

"Go out with me, Harold. Here, now. Let's have a cake. A muffin! Some tea, anything! Just go out with me, Harold. You're funny, thoughtful, fantastic, and I'm terrible, noisy, messy, and a pain in the arse, but please. For old time's sake, for me being your sister's ex best friend, anything, go out with me now. Please. I might combust, Harold. Please." Harry felt his mouth drop at the crazed intensity in Louis' eyes. It reminded him of the daydreams of the confessional sort that he used to have when he was younger. The ones where Louis would fly across the room to kiss him, the ones where Louis would appear in their driveway, weeping and telling him that he had realised how much he loved Harry only after leaving, or the ones that had played in his head the moment Louis had opened his mouth in W. Mendiville Bakery. 

"You're not terrible-" "For fuck's sake, Harold!" Louis yelled, making the poor boy jump. He never really worked well under pressure. 

Louis was positively fuming now, and Harry couldn’t think. How could Louis Tomlinson think him funny, thoughtful, and fantastic, when those sort of adjectives were more suited for himself? He brain felt like the insides of a well-done lava cake, and he startled when he looked up to meet the other’s eyes timidly. Lovely, lovely, Louis looked so broken, so frightened, but yet his mouth was drawn in a hard line, his shoulders squared for a battle. Louis had always been a conundrum, an enigma that he still spent time thinking about even years after. Harry wanted to cry at the sheer amount of emotions swirling in him, at the intensity of the other’s scrutiny, at the reality of the entire situation. He had really never been good with pressure and he couldn’t, for the life of him remember what was his reaction to Louis’ confessions in those daydreams. He felt so incredibly hopeless at his inability to respond to Louis kindness, even after nine years of rumination.

Louis' hand was slipping off the counter slowly with the passing silence and Harry felt a sudden bout of crazed desperation exploding in him as he watched the other boy slowly schooling his expression to mask his vulnerability. Throwing himself across the counter to catch the retreating hands, Harry felt dizzy with the memory of the heat of his tenth summer when Louis brushed his sister off at the pool to teach Harry, decked in his floaties, how to swim. 

"Yes." Harry blurted. "Yes," he repeated, his head light with exhilaration. "Now, here, over cake, muffins, tea, _anything_." Harry continued, mirroring the exhilaration spreading on Louis' face.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I hope that I did your prompt justice, and that it was an enjoyable read!
> 
> Not beta-ed, and not Britpicked, I'm sorry. Point out me mistakes if you notice any! xx
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! :D


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